


Hey, Wirt?

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Brothers bonding, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OTGW Spoilers, OTGW theories, Post OTGW, mentions of near-death experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has questions. Wirt doesn't have answers. Somehow they manage.<br/>Post Over the Garden Wall ruminations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little idea I've been working on in between chapters for Two Roads in the Woods so I could work on Wirt's perspective so Greg doesn't completely take over my headspace. Some of the things Wirt tells Greg in this story will be referenced in future chapters of Two Roads, but it isn't necessary to read this before that or vice versa. They're stand alone fics, just like Across the Hall and Toad Troubles, but exist in the same post OTGW universe essentially. 
> 
> This is also thanks for all the kind comments and kudos that I've been receiving for my fics. On my writing tumblr, skimmingmilk, I've offered to take prompts from people and I extend that same offer on here as well. If there's anything you guys want me to write or explore, feel free to send it my way and I'll see what I can do! 
> 
> The poem Wirt reads to Greg is "Last Sonnet" by John Keats. "Hope is the Thing with Feathers" is by Emily Dickinson.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Hey, Wirt?”  


“Yeah?”  


“How come we were in the hospital?”  


It was the first time the brothers had been alone since their time in The Unknown. Rather, since they nearly drowned in the lake at the base of the garden wall. Wirt shivered, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped around his shoulders. He felt better with them covered. He pulled the blanket tighter, watching Greg attempt to teach Jason Funderberker how to become an Olympic gymnast by doing cartwheels in the living room. It wasn’t working very well. Frog legs weren’t conducive to cartwheels.  


“Wirt?”  


The older brother blinked. He’d been staring off into space again – something that had concerned the nurses – and now Greg stared back at him with a curious expression. Wirt shifted, uncomfortable with his brother’s scrutiny. Better that than none at all, he supposed. A tree can’t watch you, after all. A tree can’t accuse you of anything. Oh, except he was pretty sure an Edelwood tree could. Very sure, actually. Almost one hundred percent sure and he was doing it again wasn’t he?  


“What is it, Greg?” he asked, offering up a weak smile.  


“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, folding his arms over his chest.  


“Sorry. Lost in thought, I guess. What was your question?” Wirt tried to put on his best listening face, only to realize he didn’t really have one.  


Had he ever really listened to Greg? He couldn’t remember. It felt like never, but he could be wrong. He had to be wrong. He had to have listened to his little brother at some point, listening face or no.  


In any case, Greg seemed appeased for the moment. “How come when we woke up, we woke up in the hospital? Did someone find us in the woods? Or did you carry us all the way to the hospital after you beat up The Beast with your thunder fists!” Greg punched the air while Wirt wilted.  


Right. It was the first time they’d been left alone together and he’d been dreading the barrage of questions his curious brother was bound to have. The only reason he’d held off this long was because he’d been enjoying the attention too much to have time to question Wirt. Plus, he had a sneaking suspicion that their mom told him to leave him alone while he recovered.  


Wirt clung to the blanket. “I don’t have thunder fists, Greg. And no, I didn’t carry you. Someone called an ambulance, remember?”  


“Nope!”  


“Oh.” Maybe that would be the end of it, even if he hadn’t actually answered the question.  


“Did Beatrice call the ambulance? I didn’t know she had a phone! Why didn’t she let us borrow it before? Oh, I know. She went to go get us a phone and that’s why she wasn’t with us for so long, huh?” Greg looked so impressed with his deduction skills that Wirt didn’t have it in him to say otherwise.  


“Yeah, Greg. That’s why.”  


“Liar.”  


Wirt’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”  


Greg pouted at him. His cheeks puffed out nice and big while his gaze turned oddly serious and somewhat disciplinary. He wagged a finger in his direction.  


“Beatrice wasn’t with us at the hospital. If she’d called the ambulance, she would’ve been there. So you’re a liar liar and now your pants have to be on fire.” He glanced around, probably in search of some matches.  


Wirt tucked his legs under the blanket. Just in case. “That’s not what the saying means, but okay, you’re right. I lied. Sara or Jason Funderberker or somebody else called the ambulance because we were in the lake.”  


Distracted from his search of flammable items, Greg gasped and looked to the frog beside him. “Jason Funderberker! You called the ambulance? Did you have to sing?”  


“No, Greg. Not that Jason Funderberker.” Wirt frowned, then shuddered. “Jason Funderberker.”  


“Oh. How’d we get in a lake? Did you trip? Is that why you were in the hospital? I know why I was there. I was a tree, but you weren’t, so I don’t know why you had to be there, Wirt. Oh no! Did you get turned into a tree after all?” Greg scrambled to his feet and ran over to him.  


He didn’t get on the couch, but he stood by Wirt’s legs and lifted the blanket enough to look at them. Wirt tugged it back down, glowering. Greg just smiled in relief.  


“I was checking to make sure you weren’t growing roots!” He told him proudly.  


“Greg, be quiet. Okay? Just stop talking.” He bent his head, hiding his face while he wished Mom would hurry back from the store.  


“Sorry, Wirt. I’ll be real quiet. Like a tree-!”  


“I don’t want you to be like a tree!” Wirt snapped, lifting his head to glare at him. “Just be a boy – a quiet boy – who doesn’t ask questions about things he doesn’t need to know about! Can you do that, Greg? Can you?”  


Just as he’d hoped, he took it as a challenge rather than shy away from his brother’s wrath. “Yeah! I can do that, brother o’ mine! Watch!”  


He darted around the coffee table to plop back onto the floor by Jason Funderberker. The frog. Wirt sighed with relief, feeling only the tiniest bit guilty as Greg amused himself by doing handstands with the frog in the middle of the living room. He was going to break something with his Olympic training at this rate. Whatever, Greg could do what he wanted-  


That train of thought immediately derailed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his skin pimpled with goose bumps despite the blanket, calmed only when Greg made a snort-like noise. Wirt softened as his little brother stifled his laughter, making sure that he stayed quiet. Slowly, he uncurled from his blanket ball, though he left it draped across his shoulders. His gaze drifted to a book on the coffee table. It was a book of sonnets he’d left there weeks ago.  


“Hey, Greg?”  


“Yeah?” Greg did a somersault, then looked at him.  


Wirt held up the book. “Want me to read to you?”  


Hazel eyes went wide and his mouth formed a perfect “O.” “Yeah!” He jumped up, whispering, “run, run, run,” as he went back to Wirt’s side and climbed onto the couch. “What’re we reading?”  


“Well, I’ve got this book of poetry? We can read something else if you want though. We can look through your room-”  


“Poetry’s good.” Greg lifted the corner of Wirt’s blanket so he could tuck it around his shoulder, then he pressed against his side.  


Unsure what to do with the arm his little brother was leaning against, Wirt carefully moved it behind Greg’s back, pretending to straighten the blanket and then forgetting to take it back. He cleared his throat and flipped open to the last page he dog-eared. Keats. He scanned it quickly, deemed it appropriate enough, and read softly:  


“BRIGHT Star, would I were steadfast as thou art—  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,  
The moving waters-”  


“What’s Er-a-mite mean?” Greg interrupted.  


“It’s... it's another word for hermit,” Wirt explained, albeit briefly.  


“Like a hermit crab?”  


He chuckled. “Not quite, but you can imagine a hermit crab if you want.”  


“Yeah! Read more. What happens to the crab who can’t sleep? Does he go for a swim?”  


“The moving waters at their priest-like task  
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— ”  


Greg interrupted again. “What’re moors?”  


“Sort of like meadows? Or fields. Open fields or plains.”  


“Oh. Then why didn’t they just say that in the first place?” he inquired.  


Wirt shrugged with a sideways smile. “I don’t know, Greg. Maybe because mountain and moor both start with M and O.”  


“Hm. Maybe! I think you’re on to something, Wirt!” He snuggled closer. “Keep going.”  


“No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,  
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.”  


Wirt sighed in contentment, glancing to Greg for his approval or opinion. His little brother appeared deep in thought. It took a moment for him to look up from the book to meet Wirt’s gaze, and when he did it was with an uncharacteristic amount of worry. His heart clenched. Oh, no. What had he done? Did something remind him of their time in The Unknown? Wirt’s mind whirred with the possibilities while Greg’s lower lip trembled.  


“Did the hermit crab die?”  


Oh. _Oh._ The older brother sagged with relief, a nervous laugh bubbled from his throat. “No. No, Greg, he didn’t die. He’s fine.”  


“But it’s called ‘Last Sonnet.’ And it says ‘swoon to death’ at the end. What if he didn’t write any more because he died?”  


“Well, he did die- not the, uh, the crab. The poet died because this was written a long time ago so he would be old now and-” Wirt fumbled, growing more restless as Greg continued to stare at him with the saddest expression he’d ever seen the boy show him. Ever. He took a deep breath and tried again. “The hermit crab is in love, and he’s basically wishing on the star, hoping that he could be more like it.”  


“Like the star?”  


“Yeah. Because to him the stars are constant. Always up there, twinkling in the sky, watching over us while we slumber on, regardless of the day’s trials.” He caught himself before he could slip into poetic musings of his own. “Anyway, he wants to always be there for his love, like a star, and that if he couldn’t, he might as well die. He didn’t actually die. He was just being overdramatic.” He refrained from mentioning that in the original draft of the poem, the speaker _did_ die at the end. He’d kinda forgotten that part of the poem.  


Greg relaxed. “Oh, good. Can you read another one?”  


Wirt blinked. “You want me to? That wasn’t too boring?”  


“Mm-mm! It was a good story!” He beamed. “And I like it when you read, you do it with a really cool voice.”  


“Oh. Thanks, Greg.” Wirt smiled, then handed the book to him. “Yeah, I’ll read you another. How about you pick one this time?”  


“Yeah!” Greg eagerly flipped through the pages while Jason Funderberker hopped over to join them on Wirt’s other side.  


He let him curl up under the blanket as well and gave the frog a gentle pat. Jason Funderberker looked at him with one eye open. Wirt gave a small shrug in response, unsure how much body language – or even the English language – the frog understood.  


“This one!” Greg pushed the book back into Wirt’s lap, pointing at Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the Thing with Feathers.”  


He had to smile at his little brother's choice while Greg squirmed about to get more comfortable, turning Wirt into more of a pillow. Relaxing against the couch, the warmth of the blanket and from the little body sprawled over half of him soothed him more than he’d been since he returned from The Unknown. He read poem after poem, Greg questioning and commenting on each one while Wirt made up little explanations for the particularly challenging ones. Neither brother noticed their mom return, who couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the boys to help her bring in the groceries. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, chapter 1 of this took place about three days after the events of OTGW (so, if Halloween was Friday, then they stayed at the hospital until Sunday afternoon, I'd imagine - just to make sure they were really okay). This chapter takes place the following Friday.

“Hey, Wirt?”  


“Yeah?”  


“How come Beatrice hasn’t come to see us?”  


A mere week after taking that ill-fated leap over the garden wall, the brothers stood in the cemetery and gazed upon it. Really, that’s all they were doing – or all Wirt had originally planned on doing as they walked home from school. With a little side trip to the library, of course. Books on the afterlife, fiction and non, sat heavy in Wirt’s leather satchel along with his already heavy text books. Sure, he could do the research online if he really wanted to, but there was something about holding a book in hand, turning the page with the tips of his fingers as his eyes drank in the printed letters… Anyway, he preferred to conduct his research through books, hence the trip to the library.  


He’d already told their mom that they’d be a little late because of it, so they probably had another forty-five minutes or so before she’d start worrying. While the high school was a mere minute from their house, the elementary school was at least fifteen minutes if the traffic lights were in their favor. Luckily the elementary school was also across the street from the library. How they ended up at the cemetery afterwards… well, it was a combination of Wirt’s own curiosity and the fact that Greg ran on ahead of him and forced him to give chase. His little brother had been begging to go back and see if there was really a whole other world on the other side of the wall. Today, of all days, Wirt didn’t see a problem with just looking.  


Of course, just looking at the stones set into the wall made it feel like one had settled in his stomach. His thoughts swirled in a steady haze as the memories of The Unknown refused to fade over the past week. As much as he wanted to believe it had all been a dream inspired by hypothermia and a near-death experience, deep down he knew it wasn’t.  


For one, Greg remembered it. For two, Wirt remembered it too vividly. Dreams for him tended to be a blur. Images were fleeting, colors melting together in streaks and splotches, while faces remained blank canvases for whatever his mind deemed fit to place, voices disembodied and not quite real.  


He could still hear Beatrice quite clearly in his ear, feel the grip of her talons against his shoulder through his coat. He could see the anguish in The Woodsman’s eyes, smell the oily Edelwood trees mixing with the earthy woods. He remembered the way his stomach dropped to his knees when he plunged through the ice and into the freezing water. He remembered his fingertips stinging from scratching, tearing, ripping at the branches sprouting from his little brother’s body. He remembered, all of it, and that was enough to convince him of its potential reality. The Unknown existed, and they’d found it just beyond this wall.  


Or maybe not. Like Quincy Endicott, Wirt wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of it being on the other side of the wall than if it wasn’t. So he brought Greg. Again, like Endicott. Greg could assuage his fears, while simultaneously inspiring them because that was certainly an excellent question.  


If The Unknown _was_ real, why hadn’t Beatrice come to see them?  


“Maybe she can’t, Greg,” Wirt murmured.  


“She can fly over the wall, can’t she?”  


Wirt snorted. No, she couldn’t because either the scissors rendered her a wingless, flightless bird for the rest of her life, or they really were magic and rendered her a wingless, flightless human for the rest of her life. Since his mom had a pair of those same exact scissors in the junk drawer in the kitchen, he kind of doubted their magical principles. Just a bit. For Beatrice’s sake, and her family’s, he hoped they were.  


“I don’t think so, Greg. I told you, she’s probably already human again with her family.”  


Greg made a sound that he supposed was his way of confirming that he did remember this, even if he actually didn’t. “Well, what are we waiting for, Wirt? Let’s climb that ol’ wall and see what we can see!”  


Without waiting for permission, Greg dropped his brightly colored backpack on the ground and scampered over to the tree and climbed it like a squirrel – too quick for Wirt to catch him. He was forcing Wirt’s hand, making it so that he had to go climb up the wall after him to make sure he didn’t fall or something. Except he wasn’t going to because he realized he wasn’t ready to see it again. He wasn’t ready to face a world that nearly claimed his life and the life of his brother.  


“Greg! Get down from there! We don’t know what’s-!” he started protesting, thinking maybe, just maybe, this time he’d listen, but his frantic demands were cut off when Greg’s expectant face turned to something less… hopeful. “Hey, what’s wrong? What do you see?” he asked, even though he knew. He knew it was what Greg _didn’t_ see.  


With an apologetic expression, Greg looked down at him. “I’m sorry, Wirt. It’s not there.”  


Wirt blinked. Well, that was that, he supposed. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. There were train tracks back there and everything. The train still used those tracks. It wasn’t like they just disappeared. It was just a lake on the other side of a garden wall.  


He forced a smile for his brother. “What are you sorry for?”  


“I know how much you really wanted to see Beatrice again. You wrote those nice poems for her and everything.”  


Wirt shrugged. “Yeah, well…”  


Wait… what.  


“You read my poems!” Anger and embarrassment collided, turning Wirt’s face pink as he glared at him, satchel dropping with a _thud_ beside Greg’s backpack. “Greg, I _told_ you-!” He groaned in frustration, then exhaled in a rush. “Whatever, it’s fine. It’s fine. Just… Don’t do it again.”  


Greg hardly appeared sorry over that, instead smiling like he knew something secret. “They were pretty good poems, but not as good as the ones you wrote for Sara.”  


His ears burned now, too. Fantastic. “Okaaay. I get it. Can we stop talking about this now?”  


“While the bright lights something nature’s ways with sport and blah blah blah something something, you remain a duty-bound, but graceful bee. Let me be your blossom-” Greg could barely get the line out because of his giggling.  


His patience flat lined. “Well, I tried. _Greg_!”  


Greg laughed delightedly and hopped off the wall while Wirt scaled the tree. The younger boy had jumped off of higher things before and landed rather gracefully for a six-year-old who was pretty much nothing but baby fat and high blood sugar. He hurried across the train tracks while Wirt leapt down the wall after him.  


“Greg!” he shouted, giving chase. “I swear, when I get my hands on you, I'll make sure you never forget the meaning of privacy and personal property!”  


“Don’t you mean _if_ you get your hands on me!” Greg taunted, turning around to run backwards so he could watch his big brother’s face and laugh at it or something terrible like that.  


Little brothers were truly evil. The little brat was smiling, having the time of his life even while Wirt steadily caught up with him. He was almost within reach. Wirt grabbed at him, but the younger boy sidestepped right out of the way, beaming at his triumph. Greg’s grin faltered though when he stumbled over his own feet, overbalancing. He toppled backwards, falling right down the steep hill towards the water.  


Wirt didn’t think twice before throwing himself down after him. He crashed into him. His arms wound tight around Greg’s smaller body as they rolled and rolled, his heels and elbows digging into the grass to try and slow their descent. Right before they would’ve plunged into the water for the second time in a week, Wirt angled them so that only his legs splashed into the lake, one arm flung backwards to brace them in the mud.  


Ears buzzing with adrenaline, he stared at the overcast sky in a bit of a daze. Dizzy, right rolling down a hill would do that to you. Especially when it was the same steep hill he and his brother nearly lost their lives to after evading a train.  


His heart had somehow stopped beating during the entire event and chose that moment to start up again. “Oh my gosh,” he breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly despite the weight he clutched to it. “Bedknobs and broomsticks, that was- Greg? Greg!”  


His brother mumbled something at him, his face smooshed against Wirt’s chest. He lessened his grip a little to allow Greg to lift his head and blink at him. The wide smile on his face was a relief to see.  


“You okay?” he exhaled.  


“Can we do that again?” Greg giggled.  


Wirt frowned, heart still racing. “No, we cannot do that again. We’re lucky we didn’t get ourselves killed. _Again_.”  


Greg pouted. “Aw, you’re no fun.”  


“I can accept that if it means we stay in one piece. Or two pieces, since there’s two of us. One piece each.” He shoved at Greg. “Now get off, you’re heavy.”  


He stuck his tongue out at him, but did as he asked anyway. Greg dusted himself off as he toddled along the side of the river. He had a slight limp that didn’t escape Wirt’s notice. The older brother pushed up into a sitting position, wincing when his palms squelched in the mud. Great.  


“Oh! Are we making mud pies now? I’m gonna make one for Beatrice,” Greg announced, then plunged his hands right down into the mud.  


“Greg, no. Don’t-” His attempts to stop him were in vain, the damage had been done. “Fine, but don’t get too much mud on your clothes. Mom’s already gonna kill me for this.”  


“Huh?” He already had mud smeared over his cheeks and some clumps in his hair.  


Wirt stared at him in disbelief. Did he ever get this dirty as a kid? He was pretty sure the answer was a strong no. Wirt was firmly of the opinion that only Greg possessed the ability to become completely covered in mud in under twenty seconds. Leaving his brother to his mud pie making, Wirt rinsed his hands in the lake. The water was freezing, cold enough that it would’ve stolen his breath right out of him had they crashed into it. His legs were already numb below the knee, pants plastered to his calves.  


After having nearly drowned in ice water twice, Wirt was not up for tempting fate to see if he could make it out unscathed a third time. He flicked his hands in the air to dry them a bit, then gazed at his reflection. It was just his normal face in a normal lake. Nothing magical or mystical about it.  


Ripples from his hands breaching the surface of the frigid water stretched out towards the center, journeying farther and farther along their destined path but losing more of themselves on the way. Was life not but the journey of a ripple? Ending somewhere and as something far different than when one begun?  


Was he not different from who he was before his journey through The Unknown?  


He didn’t really know.  


Greg’s face popped up over his reflection’s shoulder, searching the water for whatever it was that captured Wirt’s attention. “Are you looking for lake monkeys?” he asked, the question absurd enough to draw him from his morose thoughts.  


“Lake monkeys?” Wirt frowned, watching Greg’s reflection rather than look at him directly.  


“Yeah! Andy McAllen said they’re just like sea monkeys only in a lake, then told me I should go jump in one and wait to see if I could find any,” he explained.  


His frown deepened and this time he lifted his head to look at his mud-coated brother. “Greg, Andy McAllen was lying. There’s no such thing as lake monkeys.”  


And he was pretty sure that was Andy McAllen’s way of making fun of his little brother’s imagination. Was he going to have to have a talk with Andy McAllen? Was that something good big brothers did? Oh, he kind of hoped not. He didn't like confrontation, even if it was with a six-year-old. Maybe he wouldn't have to. Unless Andy McAllen forced his hand.  


Greg placed his hands on his hips. “Have you ever jumped in a lake to find out?”  


Wirt's eyes narrowed. “I’ve been in two lakes and I can assure you I’ve never seen a lake monkey.”  


“Oh, okay then. You know, I thought he might be making it up, but you never know unless you try!” That didn’t make much sense. “Want to see my mud pies?”  


“Sure, but let’s wash you off a bit first.” Wirt latched onto Greg’s wrist before he could run away.  


“No! Never!” He struggled nonetheless, but he couldn’t get a good foothold in the mud and just slid right down on his bottom. "Curses. Foiled again."  


Wirt used the excuse of cleaning Greg’s hands and face to check his brother for injuries. He didn’t protest any poking or prodding, and the limp seemed to have vanished as quick as it had come. Greg was certainly a resilient little guy. Once as clean as the lake could get him, Wirt allowed him to tug him over to his array of mud pies.  


“They’re lovely, Greg.” Wirt smiled half-heartedly, the lopsided mounds anything but.  


“Which one looks the best?” he asked him. “That’s the one I’m gonna leave ‘specially for Beatrice.”  


“Oh. Um…” He rubbed his chin, glancing between the four options he had, then pointed to the most asymmetrical of the bunch. “That one?”  


“Excellent choice!” Greg complimented, plucking a weed from the ground to garnish it with. “Oh, I should’ve brought paper and crayons to make a card. How’s she gonna know it’s from us?”  


Wirt scanned the ground quickly, locating a stick by his foot. He tested the tip of it with his finger, then carefully etched out “For Beatrice, From Greg and Wirt” in the mud right under it. He smiled at his work.  


“There. How’s that?”  


Greg hummed as he tilted his head one way and then the other. “I think it should say ‘love Greg and Wirt.’”  


Wirt’s cheeks colored. “I think this is fine.” His voice cracked midsentence.  


“‘Love Greg and Wirt!’” Greg demanded. “We’re best friends and best friends should get something better than just ‘from,’ Wirt.”  


That did make sense, in a way. Rolling his eyes, Wirt smeared the “From” and rewrote “Love” in place of it. “Better?”  


“Much!” Greg beamed. “Oh, wait!”  


Snatching the stick from his brother, Greg drew a sloppy smiley face under his name. It took away from the meticulous scrawl Wirt had worked on, but it was very Greg. Surely Beatrice would appreciate it-  


Except she wasn’t ever going to see it, was she? Wirt’s stomach ached. They’d been on the other side of the wall long enough that if there was some mystical portal to another world, they’d have seen it by now. A shared dream or journey through the afterlife were the only two options left then, huh? Which meant Beatrice was either a figment of Wirt and Greg’s combined imaginations or…  


Wirt took the stick from Greg and drew a heart underneath his name. “In Loving Memory” was squeezed inside the boundaries of the curved lines. His eyes burned a little. He hoped those scissors worked. He really did.  


“That’s nice,” Greg praised, impressed with Wirt’s addition to their gift. “I think she’ll really like it, don’t you?”  


“Yeah, Greg. I’m sure she will.”  


“Wirt? How come you’re crying?” Greg tugged on his brother’s sweater.  


Wirt sniffed, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m not. Allergies. It’s just allergies.”  


He could feel the hazel eyes watching him, observing his every action quietly. Greg let go of his sweater to hold onto Wirt’s hand instead. When he was certain his eyes weren’t watering anymore, he lowered his arm and offered Greg a shaky smile.  


The boy squeezed his hand. “I miss her, too.”  


Wirt’s breathing hitched. He could only nod in response and squeeze back. Greg really was perceptive when he wanted to be. Resilient and perceptive, his little brother was gaining some excellent qualities as a person.  


“C’mon, Wirt. We’d better get going so your allergies don’t get worse.” Greg tugged on his hand, leading him back up the hill. “Plus, I think Jason Funderberker is getting lonely. We’ve been gone all day! He’s not used to our school schedule yet.”  


“It’s only been two days,” Wirt agreed, sniffling a little. “I’m sure he’ll get used to it soon.”  


“I can’t believe Miss Yogurt made me go to the office and called Mom just because I brought him to class yesterday.” Greg pouted. “He was being good!”  


“Your teacher’s name is Miss Yokley, Greg. And school is no place for a frog, I’m sure Jason Funderberker would get bored of it eventually. He’s happier at home.”  


“That’s true. I’m already bored of it and it’s only been two days! I’m happier at home, too. Can I stay home again next week? I bet Mom would let me.”  


Wirt snorted while Greg kicked the stray pebbles he came across on their way up. “I wouldn’t count on it.”  


“Aw, beans.” He swung their still-joined hands together, then looked over his shoulder towards the lake. “How did we get to The Unknown, Wirt?”  


Wirt stopped walking when they got to the top of the hill, only then turning to look back at where they’d came from. “I don’t know yet, Greg. I’m still trying to figure that out.”  


“Do you think Beatrice is, too, and that’s why she hasn’t come to visit us yet?” he asked.  


“Maybe. C’mere.” Wirt crouched down to let Greg climb onto his back.  


This side of the wall didn’t have a tree that was as easy to climb as the one on the cemetery’s side. It would be easier to carry Greg back over it. His little brother had no complaints, absolutely ecstatic at the idea of a piggyback ride. When his arms locked around Wirt’s shoulders, he scaled the wall carefully, watching where he placed his feet and choosing each stepping stone with precision. He straddled the top of the wall first, then gave Greg the go ahead to slide off and hop down.  


“Do you think Beatrice misses us as much as we miss her?” Greg asked, watching as Wirt jumped down next.  


He grabbed his satchel, looping the strap across his shoulders. “Of course. There’s no way she wouldn’t miss you, Greg.” He flicked him in the forehead.  


Greg swiped at his hand and laughed, going for his own brightly colored backpack. “There’s no way she wouldn’t miss you either, Wirt! You’re the total package!” He ran ahead of him, past a gravestone marked Quincy Endicott, then doubled back. “Any chance you could give me a piggyback ride all the way home?”  


“Not on your life.” Wirt looked away from the gravestone. “But I will race you. How’s that sound?”  


“Yeah! You don’t stand a chance!” Greg took off. “Last one home has to give all their desserts to the winner for the rest of their life!”  


Confident that he could negotiate it down to a week, Wirt paused by Endicott’s gravestone. It was a relatively plain marker, with no indication that it was the same, eccentric man they’d feigned familial ties with. Though how many people had been named Quincy Endicott? Wirt spared the stone a moment of silence, bowing his head.  


Maybe over the weekend he and Greg could come back and explore the rest of the graves, see if they recognized any of the other names resting in Eternal Garden Cemetery. He could turn it into a game of some kind for his little brother, or check the names in secret. He didn't have to know it was the afterlife, not yet anyway. The afternoon train whistled in the distance, chugging along towards the wall. Wirt blinked out of his reverie, then trailed after Greg to make sure he remembered to wait until the light was green before trying to cross the street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section takes place after my other story "Across the Hall" but it isn't necessary to read that before this. It's just part of my mental timeline (which I'm going to have to physically write out soon because of all the ideas) and goes along with the theme of this chapter.

“Hey, Wirt?”  


“Yeah?”  


“How come you have so many nightmares?”  


Wirt stilled. He’d been working on his homework – finally caught up after missing those first couple of days following their time in the hospital nearly two weeks ago now and getting back in the swing of things – and Greg had let himself into his room like he owned the place and started building a fort with his blankets and pillows for Jason Funderberker. Apparently he’d given up on that when the frog decided it was time for a nap and had taken to asking questions. Again.  


“I don’t have nightmares,” Wirt denied, hunching over the table he used as a desk.  


It was bigger than desks tended to be, which suited his needs perfectly. It allowed him enough space to keep his books and tapes, do homework, write poetry, and set up his model train on. Today’s desks just paled in comparison to the amount of space a table had to offer. Sure, it wasn’t the fanciest table and he only had one chair, but no one ever came into his room. Why would he need more than one chair?  


The pillow fort collapsed behind him. Alright, aside from Greg no one ever came into his room, and Greg didn’t count. The kid was happier without a chair. Though, come to think of it, he’d probably need one for when Sara came over to listen to his tape, huh. Otherwise they’d have to sit on the bed together. Oh, jeez. He wasn’t ready for that.  


“Yeah you do! I hear you!” Greg’s exclamation cut through the rising panic in his throat. "Why else would I keep sleeping over?"  


Wirt frowned and turned around in his chair. “Clearly you are hearing wrong because I don’t have nightmares," he lied. "Maybe _you’re_ the one having nightmares about me having nightmares. And they make you sleep walk into my room.”  


Greg’s eyes rounded. “Whoa. Maybe! Wow, Wirt, I didn’t even think of that!”  


“’Course you didn’t,” Wirt grumbled, only feeling a little guilty for the deceit.  


He shifted back in his seat to focus on his homework and not on Sara or his tape or his little brother or the way his cheeks were burning because yes he was having nightmares but he wasn’t about to confide in or seek comfort from a six-year-old. He was the elder child. It was his burden to bear. The less Greg remembered, the better.  


“I have nightmares about socks sometimes,” Greg continued. “In my dreams, I put them on backwards so they get really uncomfortable and I don’t even notice until it’s too late! Is that like the kinda nightmares you have in my nightmares?”  


“Sure, Greg.”  


“Wow, I’m so sorry, Wirt. Those are the worst. Oh, besides the ones about the branches in the snow. Those might be extra worse. Do you nightmare about the snow, too?”  


“Yeah.”  


“I didn’t think it could be so scary. I mean, it’s snow. Snow is supposed to taste like candy bars and milkshakes. And it was so cold. I don’t remember it being that cold other times it snowed. I even had a sun in a cup, you think that would’ve kept me all warm and toasty. Hey, where did my sun in a cup go anyway?”  


Wirt let Greg’s babbling wash over him, sloughing off like water to a duck’s wing. Whatever his little brother was going on about, at least it kept him amused and didn’t require much of a response on Wirt’s part. It wasn’t until Greg was trying to slide between him and the table that he took notice.  


“Greg! What are you doing?”  


“Looking for my sun in a cup, I told you!” Greg reached for a tea cup on Wirt’s table. “Sun?” He called, tipping it over and spilling cold tea all over Wirt’s math assignment. “Oops.”  


“ _Greg_!” Wirt pushed the chair back and shoved the little boy away from the table. “Stop messing with my stuff! There’s no sun in any cup. The sun’s in the sky,” he snapped, attempting to salvage the papers by mopping up the tea with an old shirt.  


“But I put so much work into getting the sun in the tea cup!” Greg protested.  


“Well, I put so much work into my math homework and you spilled tea all over it. Sometimes hard work is for nothing.” Wirt slumped back in his seat, glaring at the soggy paper.  


At least he could still see the pencil marks, even if they were smudged. He could still copy it, so it wasn’t the end of the world. He looked over his shoulder when Greg stayed quiet, about to tell him that he wasn’t mad at him, but to please be more careful and not bother him while he was doing his homework, thanks. However, none of those words happened because Greg was looking at him like he’d slapped him. Oh no. Had he hurt him when he moved him out of the way? He didn’t think he’d pushed him that hard, just a harsh nudge, it couldn’t have done too much damage. The kid had fallen out of more trees than Wirt could count and he’d never cried, not once.  


Wirt got up to kneel in front Greg, hands hovering over him, unsure if he should hug him or check for bruises or apologize- yeah apologizing sounded like a good start. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. You just have to be more careful, okay?”  


“You really think my hard work was for nothing?” Greg asked, clearly on a different page than the older brother.  


He blinked and sat back on his heels. “What work?”  


“The work I did for The Beast! To save us! I got him a golden honeycomb like he asked, a silver spider web on a stick like he asked – well, he didn’t ask for that, but he said it was okay – and then I put the sun in a cup like he asked. He said if I could beat him at those three things- wait… yeah, three things, then he’d let you go and we could go home.” Greg frowned. “Then you came and we went home. Wasn’t that ‘cause of what I did? Didn’t I beat The Beast?”  


“Oh…” Wirt had no idea what The Beast had done with his brother while he’d looked for him, and somehow asking him to best him at three tasks wasn’t quite the torture he’d been envisioning the past few nights. “No, Greg, I didn’t- I thought you were just being silly. I didn’t realize that putting the sun in a tea cup was one of your… your tasks.”  


“It’s still a silly task," he agreed. "Almost impossible.”  


“How’d you do it?”  


Greg smiled, chest puffed out proudly. “I put the cup on a tree stump! Right under the sun so that when it set, it would land right in the cup! I had to wait a long, long, long, long, long time because the sun doesn’t set so fast when you actually want it to and I think I fell asleep before I got to see it go in the cup, but that’s okay because then you were there. And Jason Funderberker and Beatrice and then I ate some leaves while I waited since it was such a long, long, long-” Greg’s ramblings paused when Wirt mussed up his hair affectionately. “Wirt?”  


“Mm?”  


“Did _you_ beat The Beast?” He tilted his head, ever the curious puppy, and Wirt frowned as he thought about it for a minute. Had he? Greg’s blinding smile distracted him. “It’s okay if you did instead of me, because you’re way better at being leader. Will you keep being leader for a little while more?”  


A leader Wirt had never considered himself. A background character, a wallflower, a spectator, but not the lead role, never the hero. Greg blinked up at him, a glimmer of hope mingling with a dash of hesitance. Fear that he’d say no and make the younger brother take up the task.  


Wirt ruffled Greg’s hair again. “I’ll be the leader until you’re ready to be one, how’s that sound?”  


“Sounds good, captain!” Greg gave him a thumbs up. “So how’d you beat The Beast, Wirt?”  


Oh, he wasn’t getting back to his homework any time soon, was he? Wirt sighed, but couldn’t quite wipe the rueful smile from his face. He propped up Greg’s forgotten pillow fort to make a comfortable place for him to lean against since they were apparently going to sit on the floor for the remainder of this discussion. Greg scooted up close to him, dragging the sleeping Jason Funderberker into his lap.  


“Well, I wouldn’t have had a chance against The Beast if you hadn’t weakened him for me,” Wirt started.  


Just as he’d expected, Greg’s eyes went wide. “I did?”  


“Mmhm. He didn’t expect you to do so well, and it zapped his powers a little, you know like Superman and Kryptonite.”  


“Wow. I was The Beast’s Kryptonite?” he asked, then when he received a confirming nod continued, “What’s Kryptonite?”  


“I’ll tell you later. But for now, I’ve got some questions for you.”  


“You do? Go ahead, Wirt! Ask away!”  


“How’d you do it? How did you get up the courage to face The Beast? I mean, he was pretty scary, right?”  


“Oh, man. He was really scary,” he agreed. “But I did it because the Cloud City Queen said you couldn’t go home when I wished for us to. She said The Beast had trapped you in the tree branches and wouldn’t let you go, so I knew that as the leader, I had to save you. So I did. Until you saved me. Oh, Wirt! We saved each other!”  


“Wait a minute. Cloud City Queen?” Wirt raised an eyebrow. “When did we meet a Cloud City Queen?”  


“ _You_ didn’t meet her, Wirt. You were sleeping. I helped her beat the ol’ North Wind and saved her city, then she said she’d grant me a wish! So I wished for us to go home, but she said only I could go home because The Beast had you, so I-”  


“Wait, wait. You had a chance to go home, and you didn’t because I couldn’t go with you?” he clarified, because given everything else they’d seen, a magical Cloud City Queen who could grant wishes wasn’t that farfetched.  


Greg stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “Well, yeah.”  


“Why?”  


“Because you’re my brother!” Greg grinned. “And you trusted me to get us home. I couldn’t let you down. Oh no. I didn’t let you down, did I?”  


“No, of course not.” Wirt knocked him on the head. “Don’t ever think that, okay? You could never let me down. But Greg… if you ever get a chance to… if something like that happens again, you leave without me, got it?”  


All of his research on the afterlife and shared dreams didn’t amount to much, but he did find some similarities in his skimming of Dante’s Inferno. If The Unknown had truly been an inbetween place for life and death, then it was too much of a risk not to seize the first opportunity to get right out of there. The ancient Greek and Egyptian texts he’d perused didn’t help dissuade this thinking that The Unknown was some kind of purgatory. Given their situation at the time, too, it only made sense that searching for home in the woods was their way of searching for life and skirting death. Or something. It definitely made him realize his own mortality, at any rate. And Greg’s.  


Wirt jolted out of his thoughts when Greg tugged on his sleeve for his attention. “Are you even listening?”  


“What? Sorry, Greg. My mind kinda got away from me again. What did you say?”  


Greg crossed his arms over his chest. “I said why do you want me to leave you if that ever happens again?”  


Of course he wouldn’t just accept that. Wirt sighed, “Don’t… don’t question it. Just promise me that if we’re ever in a situation like The Unknown again and you can get out safely? You go. Don’t worry about me.”  


“No.” Greg frowned at him, pulling away. “That’s dumb.”  


“What?” Wirt sputtered, becoming indignant. “It’s not dumb!”  


“Yeah it is, Wirt. You wouldn’t leave without me, would you?”  


“Of course not, but that’s entirely different. I’m your big brother, I’m supposed to take care of you.”  


“Well, I’m your little brother and I’m supposed to take care of you, too!”  


Wirt’s shoulders slumped. “Greg… no. It’s different.”  


“Why?”  


“I’m older, that’s why.”  


“But that’s not fair!”  


“Not everything gets to be fair, Greg.”  


Greg huffed. “I changed my mind, I want to be the leader again and as leader I say that it’s not different and I can do what I want. So there.”  


Wirt scowled. “Wait, you can’t just change your mind like that.”  


“Not everything gets to be fair, Wirt,” Greg mimicked.  


Oh, now he was just being a brat. “You don’t get to make the rules, Greg. You’re six.”  


“And a half!”  


“The fact that you just said that proves that you’re too young to get to do what you want and puts me back in charge, so you have to listen to what I tell you. Got it?”  


Greg opened his mouth to argue the point, but couldn’t seem to come up with anything suitable and pouted instead. “Why do you want to be in charge now? You didn’t use to!”  


The accusation might as well have stabbed him in the gut.  


“Maybe because you almost die-!” Wirt grit his teeth against the word, scrambling to shift gears. “You- you almost got yourself turned into a tree, Greg! For no reason! You could’ve gotten out and instead you stayed behind to become a tree! So- so yeah! I have to be in charge now to keep you from doing something dumb like that again! What if I hadn’t been able to save you, Greg? What if Beatrice never saw you? What if she never saw me? There are a lot of what ifs, and you’re telling me you would’ve been fine if you’d just accepted some cloud lady’s wish?”  


His little brother stared at him in shock, apparently not expecting the outburst. “Why are you so mad?”  


“I’m not mad!”  


“You look mad! And sound mad!”  


“You’re about to make me mad in a second, Gregory! Now shh!”  


“You shh!”  


Wirt growled, fingers digging into his scalp as he scowled. “Why do you have to be so-! Arg! Never mind. Get out of my room. I’ve got stuff to do.” He went to stand up, but Greg latched onto his leg and weighed him down, wrapped around it like a mini octopus. “Greg, I’m serious! Get out!”  


“Hug fix!” Greg shouted back.  


“What?”  


“Hugs fix everything. That’s what Mom and Dad say,” the boy explained, sheer determination glimmering in his eyes. “That’s- I want to fix you being mad. With a hug.” His arms and legs tightened. “So don’t be mad anymore.”  


Hugs fix everything. It was ridiculous. His mom used the same saying on him when he’d been Greg’s age, but he’d known even then that it wasn’t true. Hugs couldn’t fix his family. Greg didn’t know that yet though. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t ever have to know.  


Wirt closed his eyes and counted to five in his head. When he finished, he sighed heavily and looked down at his stubborn brother. While they only shared half of their genes, they both carried the same stubborn streak. Greg stared right back at him, refusing to be the one who backed down.  


Why did he even pick a fight with the kid in the first place? It wasn’t like Greg had any idea of the danger they may or may not have been in. He was just trying to be a good leader. A good brother. Who was Wirt to take that away from him just because he’d been a crummy leader and an even crummier brother?  


He wilted. Caved. “I’m not mad, Greg,” he repeated, softer. “I’m a little… upset, but I’m not mad. And definitely not at you.”  


Greg furrowed his brow. “You called me Gregory. You never do that except for introductions.”  


Of course that was the part of Wirt’s outburst that affected him the most. “I know. I’m sorry.” He gave his head a pat. “You’re gonna cut off all the circulation in my leg.”  


Hesitantly, Greg let go of him and sat up on his knees, hands clasped behind him. “I’m sorry I made you upset.”  


Wirt shook his head. “You didn’t. I brought it upon myself. What’s the saying? I made my own bed, so now I have to lie in it?”  


“You don’t make your bed. Mom does it for you,” Greg pointed out.  


“I said it’s a saying,” he reminded him. “The point is, why I’m upset is completely my fault. Not yours, okay? Don’t be sorry.”  


Appearing contemplative, his younger brother leaned against the pillows and watched Jason Funderberker continue his nap. That frog could sleep through anything. Wirt couldn’t pretend to even guess what was going through the kid’s head as they sat there. Act now, think later tended to be the motto with which Greg lived his life. About to get up and start on copying his homework, he was stopped by Greg taking a deep breath.  


“When you have nightmares - in my nightmares - you ask for me and I’m not there. I know ‘cause you get upset. And that makes me upset, too, Wirt. So I don’t want to leave you behind. Not ever. Because then it really would be my fault.”  


“Greg…”  


“You’re my big brother.” Greg steeled his expression, cheeks puffed out. “I need you, too, Wirt.”  


He didn’t. He really didn’t, but Wirt wasn’t going to argue the point now. He pulled him against his side in a one-armed hug, Greg reciprocating by throwing both of his around Wirt’s waist. There had to be something he could say, but words eluded him and left his mouth dry and throat tight. He couldn’t even wax poetic if he tried.  


Greg didn’t need someone like him for a brother, but he was what he had. All he knew. Greg was the kind of kid who could make it on his own, no problem. He was an unstoppable force. Wirt didn’t believe him, but it was the thought that counted. He rubbed Greg's shoulder and he received a tight squeeze and a jab in the ribs that he was pretty sure was supposed to be a nuzzle in return. Uncomfortable as it was, he actually didn't mind it. His brother's painful attempts at cuddling seemed like they actually could fix anything.  


Ugh. Maybe he _did_ need to be comforted by a six-year-old after all.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, Wirt?”  


“Yeah?”  


“How come…? Never mind. I forgot.”  


Someone should’ve known there’d be a breaking point.  


Wirt should’ve known.  


For the past month he’d been coping with their surreal near-death experience with a lot of head scratching, pacing, headaches, and bouts of sitting on his bed in the dark questioning his own existence. Headlights of passing cars caused him to jump for weeks, too bright and too circular, piercing the dark of night. He actually tried talking to several bluebirds, only to slap himself out of it because: Brains. Not big enough. Cognizant speech. He read and soaked up every bit of literature on the afterlife that he could get his hands on – even using the internet once or twice for specific things he wanted to look up. He thought he'd seen Jason Funderberker's belly light up when Greg shook him on several different occasions, but then it just stopped one day and it never happened again. As far as Wirt knew, anyway.  


Then there was the fact that his mom had to leave work twice to pick him up from school early after some rather embarrassing panic attacks that resulted in him hiding in the bathroom for an entire period. It didn’t help that Sara had sat with him the whole time both times and had to see him like that, but she didn’t seem to mind. And holding her hand had been nice. But it was still a humiliating experience. He’d rather be able to enjoy holding hands instead being a wreck about it- okay, enough thinking about that.  


The point was, he’d coped. As November gave way to December, he realized he was feeling much better about it all. His excessive daydreaming lessened and his nerves quieted enough that he felt, almost, normal. Except for the nightmares, those still happened.  


While the nightmares he couldn’t control, everything else was manageable. A month after The Unknown, Wirt accepted their near-death experience for what it was. His breakdown hit him hard and fast in the beginning, but faded over time.  


Greg’s didn’t.  


It was the second week in December. The elementary school students were putting on plays before winter break. It was mostly for the parents to coo over and the plays were blessedly short. The one for first grade was based off the book “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom” so each kid could have a part and have fun. There were twenty-eight kids in Greg’s class and twenty-six in the other first grade class. Wirt had pointed out that even by doubling the alphabet, there were still two kids left over.  


“Someone’s gonna be the narrator and someone else is gonna be the tree,” he’d explained when Wirt asked.  


Fair enough. “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom” wasn’t the most exciting of little kid books, and not exactly something that was in the spirit of winter like the other grades’ plays, but he’d promised to go nonetheless. Being a good big brother and all.  


Unfortunately Jason Funderberker had to stay home. After the cafeteria fiasco two weeks ago, the Palmer-Whelan family collectively decided that the frog would be much happier as far from the school as possible. Greg understood, though was disappointed nonetheless.  


Wirt saved his mom a seat in the overcrowded gym. She’d volunteered to help with costumes and Jonathan was working with the kids in the band class who would be providing music for each play. Had first graders been allowed to take band, Wirt figured his little brother would be right there with them – banging away on his drums or attempting the clarinet or trumpet.  


Or maybe he’d discover a talent and passion for acting. It seemed like it’d be something up Greg’s alley. Wirt fiddled with the video camera his mom had given him along with implicit instructions to get the whole thing so Jonathan could see it later. Even if he was there, he’d be conducting the band and would have his back to the stage.  


His mom had actually asked him to record it on her smart phone, but he was adamant that if he was going to record a video of his little brother’s performance in “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom” then it was going to be an actual video. He didn’t even know what role Greg was playing, his brother keen on keeping it a surprise. He’d probably asked for the W costume. It was his new favorite letter other than G.  


“Wirt?”  


He looked up as his mom squeezed past the other parents filling the rows of folding chairs. That was quick. She hadn’t been gone very long and considering how long it took her to get Greg dressed every morning, he’d thought getting forty some odd six-year-olds in alphabet costumes would be a lot more challenging.  


“Hey, Mom. These seats okay?” Not that they had any other choice, he thought as he scanned the rest of the gym, then noticed that his mom looked pretty worried. “What’s wrong?”  


“It’s Greg- he’s fine!” she hastened to add when Wirt paled. “He’s fine. Well, he’s upset, but other than that he’s fine.”  


Wirt took a few deep breaths to restart his heart. “Why? I thought he was excited.”  


“He was. Then we started getting everyone in their costumes and… I don’t know what happened. I’ve never seen him act like this. He wouldn’t put on his costume and when Miss Yokley tried to coax him into it, he started crying. Greg never cries.” She looked as if she was on the brink of crying, too, and Wirt squirmed. “I tried to find out what’s wrong, but he’s just asking for you.”  


He blinked and actually pointed to himself. “Me?”  


She nodded. “He’s still in his classroom. Could you go talk to him? And tell him he doesn’t have to do the show if he doesn’t want to, I just want to make sure he’s alright.”  


“Okay.” Wirt stood up and handed the camera to his mom – they’d fought too hard for these seats so she’d save them unless they were absolutely leaving – then shuffled through the mob of disgruntled family members.  


He wasn’t sure what he was walking into exactly. Greg crying? Impossible. Like his mom said, the kid never cried. And asking for him? Why would he have needed him when Mom was right there? Wirt walked a bit faster.  


The classroom was surprisingly empty, aside from Greg’s teacher and a few letters who were trying to peek in at the ball of a boy huddled at his desk. Miss Yokley let him through, then herded her lowercase alphabet into the classroom across the hall where the other first graders had gathered. Wirt didn’t pay them any mind, his eyes glued to his little brother, appearing uncharacteristically small amidst the sea of desks.  


Wirt’s heart sank. Greg had his face buried in his arms, completely still and silent. Two things that were very un-Greg-like. It didn’t mean he was crying, though. No way. Oh, jeez, _was_ he crying? Wirt could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Greg cry and that included when he’d been a baby. The last time was when he was five and broke his arm trying to ride Wirt’s bike without permission. Even then, it had been a delayed reaction. Greg just didn’t cry.  


“Greg?” Wirt walked over to him, squeezing into the desk beside his brother’s. “Hey. Everything okay?”  


His little brother hiccupped and lifted his tear-stained face, red and snotty and completely miserable. “Wirt,” he mumbled, not even bothering to hide the evidence that yes, he was crying.  


He tried not to gape in shock, searching for words because words would help stop whatever it was that was happening. “What’s wrong?” Right, get him talking. Find out the source of the problem, then nip it in the bud. Or something.  


Greg sniffed hard, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t want to.”  


“Okay. Don’t want to what?”  


He reached across the aisle and rubbed Greg’s back. Comfort was also good, and this was comforting, wasn’t it? His little brother’s breathing hitched a bit, getting a little faster. A little…frightened. He was scared?  


“You got stage fright?” Wirt asked, completely taken aback.  


This was Greg. He made up songs on the spot and sang them in front of complete strangers. He was the last person on earth Wirt expected to get stage fright. Though he was also the last person Wirt expected needed comforting. Greg was just so… happy. Carefree. Brave. An unstoppable, resilient force. Sure, he needed a good pep talk now and then, but stage fright? Crying?  


Greg shook his head rapidly, shoulders shaking now. “ _No._ I just wanna go home.”  


“We’ll go home. I promise. But can you tell me what’s wrong first? Hey. Come on.” He wiped away the fresh flow of tears with the sleeve of his sweater. “Why are you crying?”  


“Because I don’t-” He bit down on his lip, tearing his gaze away from Wirt’s. “I don’t wanna…”  


“You don’t want to be in the play?” Wirt guessed, trying to get back into his brother’s line of sight even though a first grader’s tiny desk was not very accommodating in that regard. “What don’t you want?”  


“I don’t wanna be a tree!” Greg wailed.  


A tree? Wirt blinked and sat back. A tree… His gaze wandered from the distraught six-year-old, finally glancing down at the pile of fabric and props on the floor at Greg’s feet. It was a tree costume. Greg was the Chicka Chicka Boom Boom tree.  


“I don’t wanna be a tree again. I don’t-!”  


Wirt dragged Greg from his seat into his lap, making room for him despite the too small desk. “You won’t turn into a tree, Greg. I promise. You’re okay.”  


“I don’t _want_ to put roots in the ground!”  


“You won’t. You can’t. You’re not a tree, you’re a person. People don’t have roots now, do they?” Wirt hugged him tightly, letting Greg shove his face against his chest. “Besides, trees don’t make very good brothers, and you’re way too good of a brother to be a tree.”  


Greg sniffled and rubbed his face all over Wirt’s sweater before looking up at him. “You really think so?”  


“Yeah, I really think so.”  


“But- but what if- what if-!” His little chest heaved as new tears sprung up, despite all attempts at holding them back. “I turned into one before. What if I turn into one again? It happened, Wirt! I remember- I don’t- I want-” He took a second to get his thoughts organized, another very un-Greg-like and more Wirt-like thing to do, then met the older brother’s gaze with wide, serious eyes. “I’m _scared_ , Wirt. How come I turned into a tree? How come-!”  


He was getting worked up all over again.  


“Shh.” Wirt put his hand over Greg’s mouth. “Breathe.”  


He waited until his little brother took three deep breaths before removing his hand and the first thing Greg said was, “You shh.”  


Wirt smiled. “Better?”  


“A little,” Greg admitted, concern still etched deep into his brow and eyes rimmed with red.  


“You still scared?”  


His silence said more than any words that could’ve spluttered from his mouth just then. Wirt instinctively smoothed his brother’s hair down, despite it already being set in place from the hairspray their mom undoubtedly doused him in. The gesture seemed to soothe Greg nonetheless. He pushed his face back against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. It was kind of sweet, in a mildly concerning way.  


“Don’t be scared. Nothing can turn you into a tree here. That’s only a special kind of magic in The Unknown,” Wirt explained, realizing very, very belatedly this was a talk they should’ve had weeks ago, the first time they were left alone after the hospital.  


How long had Greg worried about turning back into a tree? If it was anywhere near as long as Wirt had fretted over it, then it was too long. Heck, a second of worry was too long for Greg. He was six. He shouldn’t have had to be afraid of dying yet. Not like that. Not as a tree in the cold in the woods alone. Not at the bottom of a lake either.  


His stomach churned and he held onto him tighter. How many times had he tried to talk to him about it, only to be shut down? Answers swept under the proverbial rug. Wirt’s own fears overshadowing any that the younger brother may have had.  


Well, not today. “And remember? We can’t even go back there. We went over the wall and nothing happened. It’s a place… you can’t always get there and we won’t be going back for a long, long time, or ever, maybe.” He wasn’t sure of the logistics.  


Maybe if someone was ready to die, The Unknown wouldn’t be a place they’d have to travel.  


Greg blinked up at him, the tears stopped for now, replaced with a more natural curiosity. “How did we get there?”  


“We uh... We got there through a special kind of sleep. You know, like Alice in Wonderland or- or The Wizard of Oz! After we rolled down the hill, we must’ve bumped our heads, like Dorothy did, remember? So, we were really there, but we were also here, too. Does that make sense?”  


“I think so?” Greg didn’t sound so sure. “A special kind of sleep…”  


“Yeah. Like a really, really deep sleep.”  


He thought about it for a minute, then looked at Wirt with the most serious expression a first grader could muster. “Is that where you go when you have nightmares, Wirt?”  


“No.” He prided himself on how firm he made his voice sound. “No, those are just nightmares, Greg. They’re memories. I feel like I’m back there again, but I’m not. I promise.”  


“Are you sure? Sometimes you don’t wake up right away…” Greg fisted his hands in Wirt’s sweater. “Sometimes you’re in a deep sleep.”  


“I’m sure,” he assured him. “I’m not going back there for a long time. And neither are you. And if we’re not there, then The Unknown can’t turn us into trees. It’s impossible for it to reach us here. So you don’t have to be scared.”  


“You’re really sure we won’t go back there? Not even for happy things like seeing Beatrice again?” Greg asked.  


Wirt swallowed. “Yeah. I’m really sure, Greg. We’re not going back there.”  


“What if we accidentally go back? On accident?”  


“Well… hopefully we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” he told him carefully, “because we’re looking out for each other, yeah?”  


Greg sniffed again and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Yeah.”  


“Because that’s what good brothers do. And you’re obviously a good brother.” Wirt poked Greg in the stomach, making him laugh simply on reflex, but it was better than crying. “And… and am I a good brother?”  


“Yeah!” Greg was quick to reply, zero hesitation. “You’re the best!”  


“Then nobody’s gonna turn you into a tree on my watch, okay? No more Unknown, no more Beast. We’re safe, Greg. I promise.”  


Greg wrapped his arms around Wirt’s shoulders and hugged him hard. “Thanks, Wirt,” he mumbled into his sweater.  


He squeezed him back. “You’re welcome. Any time you feel scared or worried or anything, you can come to me. Okay?”  


“Even if you’re scared, too?” Greg asked, voice still muffled. “Or mad or worry-Wirting or walking around in circles talking to yourself?”  


Wirt rolled his eyes, reigning in his embarrassment for Greg’s sake. “Even then. I’m always gonna be here for you.”  


“Promise?”  


“Promise.”  


Greg sighed happily, soaking up the attention for a few more minutes. Wirt marveled at how quickly his brother was able to calm down. His breathing evened out and he wasn’t even sniffling anymore. In fact, he started to squirm when he decided the hug had lasted too long. That was more like it.  


Wirt grinned, only letting go when Greg started kicking at him. “So! Want me to go get Mom and we’ll head home?”  


Greg glanced at the crumpled tree costume on the floor. Uncertain, he nibbled on his lip while he considered it. Wirt tilted his head, waiting for his brother to say something.  


“If we go home will the play be ruined?” he asked.  


“No.” Wirt shook his head. “No, they’ll find someone else to be the tree. Your teacher, maybe, or one of the older kids. They have… ah… understudies, for this sort of thing. Someone can take your place, so you don’t have to feel bad if you don’t want to do it.”  


“I don’t know… I was picked to be the tree, and the tree’s an important job. I mean, it’s the whole reason for the story, Wirt. To climb to the top of the coconut tree.” Greg slid off Wirt’s lap and gathered his costume in his arms. “It’s my job. I should… Do you think I can do it?”  


He tilted his head as his little brother looked for his approval, his guidance, anything he had to give. “I think you can do anything if you set your mind to it,” he told him honestly.  


Greg’s face lit up. “I think I can be the tree. Wirt, can you help me with the costume?”  


“Sure thing.” Wirt struggled out of the tiny desk, then zipped Greg into the tree trunk and helped him gather the branches he was supposed to hold while on stage.  


He gave Greg a bunch of tissues to clean his face off with, though had to help dab at his eyes. His cheeks were still a bit blotchy and Wirt had no idea how to apply regular make-up to anything, let alone stage make-up. Together they decided that since trees were natural things, it only made sense for Greg to go natural as well.  


The two first grade teachers were delighted to see Greg ready to join his classmates. It made the six-year-old beam with pride. While the kids were gathered to head towards the stage, Wirt went to slip back into the audience. He was stopped when a small hand grabbed his.  


Greg gazed at him hopefully. “Will you wait backstage? Just… just in case?”  


It was a reasonable enough request, and he got an even better view of the play than he would've from his seat. Their mom would be jealous.  


Greg was pretty good at not breaking character, but a few times his gaze wandered to the wings with a smile saved just for his big brother. He wanted to deserve it. He really did. If Greg thought that he was worthy of it, of being the best and being who he needed when he was upset, then he was going to have to do his best to live up to that. No more excuses. Any questions Greg had, he’d answer them as honestly as possible.  


Greg looked his way again. He shook his branches at him, like he was sending a secret message for just the two of them. Wirt grinned back, flashing the symbol for “ok” with his hand.  


Because things were. They were okay. 

-0-

“Hey, Wirt?”  


“Yeah?”  


“How come you haven’t listened to the tape with Sara yet?”  


“…I think we’ve answered enough questions for today, Greg. Don’t you?”  


“Mm… Nope!”  


“Of course you don’t…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was in first grade, we'd do things like plays based off of kids' books, so I thought it would be a cute thing for Greg's class to do. Plus, who doesn't like "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom"? It's a classic. Just imagine all the little kids dressed as letters of the alphabet gathered around Greg being a proud, little coconut tree. It's adorable, isn't it? I told you. Hence the mob of crazy parents Wirt has to fight through. School plays can be quite perilous. 
> 
> In the Author's Note for chapter four of "Two Roads in the Woods" I explained the meanings behind Wirt and Greg's last names, but I'll touch on it briefly here, too. Wirt's last name is Palmer, which means a type of pilgrim returning from a journey to the Holy Land. Greg's last name is Whelan, which has two origins, but I picked it for the meaning associated with the first name version which means "joyful" and also has to do with being a helper.
> 
> Also, yes, Jonathan Whelan is the elementary school music teacher.
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for reading this little story! I had fun with the "Hey, Wirt?" "Yeah?" "How come...?" structure, and I like where it ended up. I hope you all did, too!
> 
> I'll definitely be writing more one-shots/short-chapter stories for this fandom while working on Two Roads still, so be on the lookout for those as well!


End file.
